I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

Ibnor lay on the cold stone, his vision a blurry mess of light and shadow. His body refused to respond, a terrifying paralysis gripping him. He could hear voices, though, muffled and distorted, like sounds filtering through thick water. He recognized Mercer's voice, tight with barely suppressed fury, and another voice, husky and unfamiliar. Through the haze of pain and confusion, he saw them: Karliah and Mercer, standing face to face, their eyes locked in a silent, deadly confrontation. The air between them seemed to shimmer with tension, the silence broken only by Ibnor's ragged breathing and the distant drip of water.

"Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?" Mercer taunted, a smirk playing on his lips. Karliah's response was a cold, calculating stare. 

"Give me a reason to try," she replied, her voice as sharp as a dagger.

"You're a clever girl, Karliah," Mercer continued, his tone laced with admiration. "Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was a brilliant move."

"To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies," Karliah quoted, her voice echoing with the wisdom of the past. "It was the first lesson Gallus taught us."

"You always were a quick study," Mercer acknowledged.

"Not quick enough," Karliah retorted, her voice filled with bitterness. "Otherwise, Gallus would still be alive."

"Gallus had his wealth and he had you," Mercer said, his voice dripping with contempt. "All he had to do was look the other way."

"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales?" Karliah demanded. "Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?"

"Enough of this mindless banter!" Mercer exclaimed, his patience wearing thin. "Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to be reunited."

Karliah's eyes narrowed. "I'm no fool, Mercer," she warned. "Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise you this: the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

With that, she turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Mercer alone with his thoughts.

"How interesting," he mused, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "It appears Gallus' history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you. Farewell. I'll be certain to give Brynjolf my regards."

With a swift motion, Mercer raised his sword and stabbed Ibnor, piercing him. Unable to let out even a squeak, Ibnor cursed Mercer up to his fourth generation. Seeing the blood on his sword, Mercer then walks away, leaving Ibnor to bleed on the cold ground. 

When he regained consciousness, he found himself outside the Snow Veil Sanctum, the cold wind whipping through his hair. Karliah, her face etched with concern, approached him.

"Easy, easy," she said, her voice gentle. "Don't get up so quickly. How are you feeling?"

"You... you really shot me, huh?" he said. Karliah smiled wryly. 

"No, I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I know. It's just... it happened so fast. One moment I was…" He trailed off, struggling to recall the exact moment of impact. "I barely even registered it."

Karliah hesitated for a moment. "My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer," she explained. "But I never had a clear shot. I made a split-second decision to get you out of the way, and it prevented your death."

"It's alright. I know. I really do. In fact, you had hoped to capture Mercer alive and bring him to the guild to be judged, right?"

"How do you..?" Karliah's eyes went wide. 

"Let's just say fate intervened." Ibnor grinned.

Karliah paused, her gaze fixed on some distant point, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"I managed to acquire Gallus' encoded journal," she said, her voice filled with determination. "I believe it holds the key to stopping Mercer's plans. I want you to take it to Enthir in Winterhold. He's the only one who can decipher its secrets." Karliah passed the journal to Ibnor.

"What about you?"

"I still have a few things to settle. You go first. I'll be there as soon as I can. The faster we get that journal deciphered, the better."

"Alright.

Ibnor starts walking straight northwest, heading to Winterhold. Despite the short distance, the time he took was long due to the thick snow and strong blowing winds. Every breath he took produced a visible mist, as he trudged through the soft yet dense snow. With the cold wind relentlessly trying to force him veering off his path, he had to consistently mind his steps and balance. 

"Damn it… Ice wraiths," Ibnor muttered, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. Ahead, a group of translucent, serpentine shapes drifted through the air, their forms shifting and swirling like smoke.

The wraiths turned towards him, their empty eyes seeming to fix on him with chilling intensity. They moved with unnerving speed, gliding through the air like phantom snakes. Ibnor drew his blade, the cold steel a reassuring weight in his hand, and braced himself.

The wraiths, though unsettling in appearance, posed little real danger. Their attacks were swift but weak, the chill of their touch more unnerving than damaging. In a moment of carelessness, however, one of the wraiths darted in and bit his arm, its icy touch leaving a creeping numbness that spread through his limb, a sensation akin to paralysis.

"No wonder people are wary of them. If a swarm of them attacks and one gets bitten all over their body, they can only wait and die, unable to do anything." Ibnor thoughts, goosebumps crawls up his neck as he imagines the scenario. "Well, at least I got their teeth. They are better than ice."

He soon reaches Winterhold. The once-grand architecture, now weathered and worn, bore witness to the city's decline. It was a ghost town, a relic of a bygone era. The city, although as large as it is, is only a shadow of its former self. 

Once a huge, bustling and prosperous city is now only a large, deserted and destitute city after the Great Collapse. Its strategic location, once a source of power, now isolated it from the rest of the world. The harsh climate and barren landscape offered little hope for sustenance. Ibnor couldn't help but feel a pang of pity. 

"Such a beautiful city, reduced to this," he mused. "A city built on magic, now shunning it. It's a tragedy. No place for ports, unsuitable areas to farm. The only thing that I can think of to help this city is with the help of magic. With the right application of magic, Winterhold could thrive once more. Imagine… A city with floating gardens, heated greenhouses, and levitating transport. A city that defies the harsh conditions, a beacon of hope in this frozen wasteland. That, in and on itself , can help to open the door to many more ways to develop this city. Sadly the Nords here hate and distrust magic. No wonder the city remained in this state."

His train of thoughts stops when he reaches the local inn, The Frozen Hearth. As usual, the innkeeper is the best place for information. Walking up to the counter, he produced a few coins and slipped it across the counter.

"I need to find someone called Enthir."

The innkeeper eyed him before responding, swiping the coins.

"I trust you won't do anything stupid. It's the wood elf over there, sitting at the table" The innkeeper points to one of the tables. 

"Thank you." Ibnor thanked the innkeeper and went to Enthir, a lonely figure sitting near the Hearth, his long pointy ear evident. He sat opposite of Enthir, disturbing the Bosmer.

"Yes, what is it?" His tone, annoyed.

"Karliah sent me."

"Karliah? Then she's finally found it. Do you have Gallus's Journal?" Enthir changed his tone, this time a mix of surprise and excitement.

"Yes, but there's a problem."

"A problem? Let me see it. This is just like Gallus. A dear friend, but always too clever for his own good. He's written all of the text in the Falmer language."

"We need you to translate it. Can you?"

"No. However, I know someone who might. The court wizard of Markarth, Calcelmo, may have the materials you need to get this journal translated. A word of warning. Calcelmo is a fierce guardian of his research. Getting the information won't be easy." 

"You mean this?" Ibnor shows him a scroll that he got from Vex earlier. 

"I suppose it would be inappropriate of me to ask how you obtained this, so I simply won't. Come on, we need more privacy for this." Enthir took the scroll and went to the innkeeper.

"Dagur, I need to borrow your cellar for a while." 

"I hope it's not another one of your college experiments. One Nelacar is enough."

"Hahaha… You indulge him too much. No explosion, I promise. By the way, if a Dunmer asks for me, send her down there."

They went into the cellar and Enthir started to work on the translation, while having a conversation with Ibnor.

"The Falmer are snow elves right?"

"Yes, they are."

"Like your kind?"

"I would say their culture quite possibly rivaled our own."

"So, why can't you read their language?"

"The Nords went to war with the Falmer in the First Era. Killed them by the thousands to drive them from their snowy homeland. The Falmer retreated underground and forged an uneasy alliance with the dwarves who ended up betraying them. This betrayal made them what they are now... Horrible blind monstrosities with a burning hatred of any but their own kind. And we are in the Fourth Era. Even you won't be able to read your kind old text."

"Make sense. But you appear to despise them…"

"Why shouldn't I? The Falmer have killed more than a fair share of my acquaintances. They're animals... they show absolutely no pity or remorse."

"They sound like victims to me."

"Maybe. But, like I said, that was in the First Era. The betrayal is no longer relevant to what they are doing now, not after generations."

"What can you tell me about Gallus?" Ibnor asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

"He was a dear friend of mine and a surprisingly astute pupil of academia. I was devastated when he was killed. I suppose that risk always coexisted with his line of work. I just never thought his luck would run out." Enthir sighed, a look of nostalgia crossing his face. 

"He was an academic yet he chose a different path. Why?" Ibnor raised an eyebrow. 

"Well, for the thrill of course. He was quite clear that he felt more in his element climbing through a window rather than hunched over a dusty tome." Enthir chuckled. 

"How did you meet him?" Intrigued, Ibnor pressed on. 

"Ah yes, quite an amusing anecdote actually," Enthir replied, a twinkle in his eye. "I caught him trying to break into my laboratory. I was about to show him the error of his ways when he made a curiously astute comment about my research notes. I was astounded and in turn it led to a conversation. Who'd have imagined it would lead to such a strong friendship?"

Ibnor nodded, taking in the information. 

"Why did Gallus scribe his journal in Falmer?" he asked.

"Besides the fact that there are only a handful of people in Tamriel that even recognize the language?" Enthir mused. "I'm fairly certain he was planning some sort of a heist that involved a deep understanding of the Falmer language. Sadly, we never had the opportunity to speak about the details."

"Where did he acquire the knowledge to use it?" Ibnor inquired.

"Ironically, I pointed him in the same direction I pointed you. To Markarth and Calcelmo," Enthir replied.

They continued their idle chatting to pass time while Enthir translated Gallus's Journal. Soon, the door opened, revealing Karliah. 

"You're here. Ibnor greets her. She nods in acknowledgement. 

"How is it going?" she asked. 

Enthir leaned over the ancient text, his eyes scanning the intricate script. 

"Hmm. This is intriguing, but highly disturbing," he murmured. "It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey's allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an… Unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures."

"Does the journal say where this wealth came from?" she asked.

"Yes," Enthir replied, his voice grave. "Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge."

"Anything else, Enthir? Anything about... the Nightingales?" A chill ran down Karliah's spine.

"Hmm. Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe 'the failure of the Nightingales' although it doesn't go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulchre."

"Shadows preserve us," she whispered. "So it's true..." Karliah's heart pounded in her chest. 

"I'm not familiar with the Twilight Sepulchre. What is it? What's Mercer Frey done?" Enthir asked in confusion and curiosity.

"I'm sorry Enthir, I can't say. All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately. Farewell, Enthir... words can't express..."

"It's alright Karliah. You don't have to say a word." Enthir cuts her off. He then turned to Ibnor. "Listen, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I'd consider it a personal favor."

"Alright. Thank you for your help, Enthir. We appreciate it." Ibnor replied.

"We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do any more damage to the Guild." Karliah urged.

"Relax, when he failed to end you at Snow Veil Sanctum, he already knows that it's only a matter of time before everything is exposed. By now he should be on his way to his final heist in Skyrim. Should he succeed, he'll be set for life. We still have a bit more time"

"But still.. We need to get to the Guild and show them the truth." Karliah said.

Ibnor can see that she is anxious. He relented and they both set off to Riften. During the journey, Ibnor, lost in thought, pondered his next move. Karliah, too, seemed preoccupied, her mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. But the journey is too long of a distance to be keeping silent. Karliah broke the silence by asking Ibnor.

"How long have you been running with the guild?" 

"Actually, not too long, just for a few weeks, give and take.."

"To be drawn into this conflict when you're just a rookie…" 

"Can't be helped, I'm that outstanding.." Ibnor jokes.

"You must be, if Mercer brought you to face me."

"In truth, the Guild is dying. The truth is, the Guild is dying. New recruits are few and far between, and most of them are barely competent. I'm only above average when I started. The Guild running out of luck didn't help and people are leaving every day. The Guild is no longer what they were. So, when Brynjoft found me, he took his chances."

"I… I didn't expect it to be that bad. I knew… the Guild was struggling, but not to that extent." Karliah sighs.

"And in truth, I knew all along. My involvement in the Guild wasn't accidental. I had my own reasons for joining."

"What do you mean?"

"It is as it sounds. I know everything. The Guild, Mercer, Gallus, you…"

"You have a lot of opportunity to bring the Guild down if it is as what you said. So, let me ask you why, are you doing this? Helping us?"

"I have something I wanted to achieve. And to do that, I actually need the Guild to be up and running, to be what it once was."

"For whatever it's worth, thank you." Karliah whispered softly.

"Don't thank me yet. You still have to make amends with Norturnal."

"How do you.." Karliah's eyes went wide, as she snapped her head towards Ibnor.

"I told you and I mean it, everything."

"I…"

"The only issue here is, we can't use the other entrance to the Cistern. Once we step past Riften's gate, they'll know you're here. The only way is through the Ratway, into the Flagon. At least that way, we won't be trapped in case things go south."

"I hope we won't reach that point. They are still reasonable people."

"Unlikely, yes. But who knows. Most of them are blinded by Mercer's lies."

When they reach Riften, Ibnor can sense eyes watching him from the shadows. Making their way through the Ratway, they arrived at the Ragged Flagon. The air was silent and it was broken only by the soft drip of water and the distant echo of their footsteps.

As they proceeded past the bar counter through the back, a tense silence fell over the room. They entered the fake cabinet into the Cistern. Suddenly, Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex emerged from the darkness, their faces etched with suspicion and hostility.

"You better have a damn good reason to be here with that murderer," Brynjolf growled, his eyes fixed on Karliah.

"Please, lower your weapons so we can speak. I have proof that you've all been misled!" Undeterred, Karliah stepped forward. 

"No tricks Karliah, or I'll cut you down where you stand. Now what's this so-called proof you speak of?" Brynjolf scoffed. 

Karliah produced Gallus's journal. "I have Gallus's journal. I think you'll find its contents disturbing."

"Let me see." Brynjolf took the journal, his eyes scanning the pages. A look of shock and disbelief washed over his face. 

"No, it... can't be. This can't be true. I've known Mercer too long..."

"It's true, Brynjolf. Every word. Mercer's been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses." Karliah pressed on. 

"There's only one way to find out if what the lass says is true," Brynjolf muttered, with his jaw clenched, "Delvin, I'll need you to open the Vault."

"Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn. What's in that book? What did it say?" Delvin, still skeptical, asked. 

"It says Mercer's been stealing from our vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered." Brynjolf explained, his voice heavy with disbelief. 

"How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys? It's impossible. Could he pick his way in?" Delvin scratched his head. 

"That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy. There's no way it can be picked open." Vex scoffed. 

"He didn't need to pick the lock." Karliah Interjected, her voice steady.

"What is she on about?" Delvin was confused. 

"Use your key on the vault, Delvin. We'll open it up and find out the truth." Brynjolf, determined to uncover the truth, said to Delvin. 

Delvin inserted his key and turned. The lock clicked, but the vault remained stubbornly closed. 

"I've used my key, but the vault's still locked up tighter than a drum. Now use yours." Delvin said.

Brynjolf used his key this time and with the two keys in place, the door opened.

"By the Eight! It's gone, everything's gone!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with shock and disbelief. "Get in here, all of you!" 

"The golds, the jewels… it's all gone!" Delvin exclaimed.

"That son-of-a-bitch! I'll kill him!" Vex was so enraged seeing the empty vault, she instinctively drew her dagger. 

"Vex! Put it away... right now. We can't afford to lose our heads. We need to calm down and focus." Brynjolf, his voice firm, calmed her down. 

"Do what he says, Vex. This ain't helpin' right now." Delvin nodded. 

"Fine. We do it your way. For now." Vex, reluctantly, lowered her dagger. 

"Delvin, Vex... watch the Flagon. If you see Mercer, come tell me right away." Brynjolf said to Delvin and Vex. They immediately went to the Ragged Flagon to keep watch. Brynjolf pulled Ibnor for a moment to talk to him privately. Brynjolf leaned against a damp stone wall, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"Look, before I have you help track Mercer down, I need to know what you learned from Karliah. I mean, everything."

"Mercer killed Gallus, not Karliah." Ibnor said. Brynjolf nodded, a grim look on his face. 

"Aye. I feared that was the case. From that last entry in Gallus's diary, it looks like he was getting close to exposing Mercer to the Guild. Anything else?"

"Gallus, Karliah, and Mercer were Nightingales." Ibnor revealed as he took a deep breath. Brynjolf's eyes widened in surprise.

"What? Nightingales? But, I always assumed they were just a tale... a way to keep the young footpads in line. Was there anything else she told you?" 

"Karliah was also the one behind Goldenglow and Honningbrew." Ibnor revealed. 

"Trying to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven, eh? Clever lass. Was there anything else?"

"No, that's it." Ibnor shook his head. 

Brynjolf nodded, his mind racing. "Then I have an important task for you. I need you to break into Mercer's home and search for anything that could tell us where he's gone."

"Oh, yeah. I know about that."

"Aye. A gift from the Black-Briars after they kicked the previous family out... place called Riftweald Manor. He never stays there, just pays for the upkeep on it. Hired some lout by the name of Vald to guard the place."

"I'll take care of it," Ibnor replied, a determined look in his eyes.

"Be careful, lad," Brynjolf warned. "This is the last place in Skyrim I'd ever want to send you. Just find a way in, get the information, and leave. And you have permission to kill anyone that stands in your way."

"What's the best way to get into Riftweald Manor?" Ibnor asked, his eyes fixed on Brynjolf.

"Good question. I've only set foot inside a few times myself, and that was in Mercer's company. If you can get past his trained watchdog, I think your best bet might be the ramp to the second-floor balcony in the backyard." Brynjolf leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"I don't suppose the ramp is easy to access." Ibnor raised an eyebrow. 

"No, it's some sort of crazy contraption Mercer commissioned for quick escapes. I'd wager a well-placed shot at the ramp's mechanism would lower it in a hurry." Brynjolf chuckled. 

"Earlier, what's missing from the vault?" 

"Better question would be 'what did he leave.' Mercer took everything. Even all of our plans are gone." Brynjolf's expression turned grim. 

"Plans?" 

"Before Mercer took over, Gallus started collecting every bit of material he could on locations the Guild could heist. Museums, keeps, estates... you name it. By the time Mercer took over the Guild, we must have had a few dozen."

As Ibnor turned to leave, Brynjolf called out to him. 

"There's one more thing troubles me," Brynjolf said, his voice a low rumble, a mix of confusion and wounded pride. "This… this is about what you hinted at before, aye? Delvin spoke of your… suspicions. By the Divines, how can I know this isn't some foul trick? Some misunderstanding?"

Ibnor paused, his expression softening. He knew Brynjolf's deep-seated loyalty to the Guild, his sense of honor. "You saw the vault, Brynjolf. Empty as a beggar's purse."

"Aye, I saw it," Brynjolf admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. "But I'd give my left arm to believe there's another explanation. Some dark magic, some outside force…"

"I know you would," Ibnor said, his voice gentle but firm. "It's a bitter draught to swallow. Perhaps there is another answer. A curse, as Delvin claims. Or some unseen hand at work. But the evidence… it speaks for itself. That's why I asked Vex to fetch you the translation guide. Gallus's own words are there, Brynjolf. Read them. Let your own conscience be your guide."

With a heavy sigh, Ibnor turned and walked away, leaving Brynjolf alone with his troubled thoughts, the fate of the Guild weighing heavily upon him.